The Giver of Roses
by nightfox243
Summary: V died and Evey took his place, but now Evey's getting too old to play vigilante anymore. No, it's time to pass on the mask. Rated for later chapters.
1. In Which V Decides She's Too Old

Discalimer: Don't own V for Vendetta, won't own V for Vendetta. Don't get cranky.

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Evey Hammond sighed and slung off her black cloak. She was getting too old for this. At 56, her joints were stiff from the damp cold of the Shadow Gallery and her reaction time was slower than it was. She had never been as fast as V to begin with, but now, she was becoming a risk to the legend of V. After all, ideas are immortal. They don't have arthritis, they can't throw out their backs and they don't wake up in the morning stiff in the neck and too sore to move. Being V was a job for someone younger, someone with the same lightening reflexes that she, at least, had once had, preferably better. Evey sighed again and glared at a wisp of graying hair that had escaped her black wig. Now, which one would it be?

Walking into the piano room, and running her fingers over the keys, she pondered her three children.

"Varick?" She muttered, wondering on her eldest son before shaking her head. The lad was young, but a 28, he had a family and a good job. He was a good man, but he was too logical, there wasn't a whimsical bone in that boy's body. And V was as much about drama and fantasy as he was about justice and ideas.

She sighed again. "Verena?" She shook her head even sooner at the mention of her first. Her only daughter was not the choice. The girl was brighter than a summers day. She was not a thing to be hidden behind a mask and kept in the windowless labyrinth that was the Shadow Gallery. Besides, the girl had no training whatsoever in self-defense and was as likely as not to be as clumsy as a drunken rhino. She sighed one last time and turned to look at the photograph perched upon the piano.

"That, Varten, leaves you." She whispered to the young boys still face. The picture simply smiled its handsome half-smile and was silent.

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sighs Sorry it's short. Usually, my chapters are longer, but this one didn't want to be lengthy. It wanted to intro-ish, you know what I mean? Anyway, TBC? 


	2. In Which Varten Decides He'll Go Mad

Sorry it took me so long to write this chapter. Between school, dance and helping my dad garden/redecorate, remodel and garden, I've too busy to do much of anything for this poor story. Here's another chapter and I promise that next weekend I'll TRY to have another one for you.

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Varten Stone glared at the back of the old detective leaving the room. It was hardly his fault that the supporters of Sutler's government always ended up dead before he and his men got to them. If the idiots would stop wreaking havoc every week or so down in the rougher parts of London, then they wouldn't get themselves killed. Most of the activists were the children and grandchildren of old party members and Fingermen who dreamed of having their families in power once again. When they were on their best behavior they simply tried to rally support and vandalize government buildings. Usually, Varten and his men got them on those days, but most of the time the asses assaulted, raped, or killed someone and then, by the time the police reached them, they were dead, all marked with a V in a circle. If the victim lived, sometimes so would one of the criminals, to tell the tale of having been attacked by the savior of England. It seemed V was still well enough alive and at large, even if he wasn't quite as public as he had been earlier in his career. Unfortunately, Detective Finch was still obsessed with him, a fact not helped by regular reports from Varten's father, Dominic Stone, Secretary of Defense for President Audrey, about notes from V giving advice about how this or that should be done or how to solve this problem. Of course, the old bloodhound was resigned to desk work now, because of his age, but he expected Varten to do the job for him, especially considering Varten was his old partner's son. 

Varten sighed. He had little interest in finding out any more about Codename V than that he took care of the bad guys for the government. He pushed back from his desk, grabbed his coat and clocked out. He was done for the night. He waved to the pretty receptionist, Brita, behind the counter as he left. Varten groaned as he walked out into the wet November night. It was pouring and he had forgotten his umbrella. He didn't much feel like getting soaked, but after the day he'd had, he didn't much feel like being stuffed among other people on the Underground or in a small cab either. He was just thankful that it was the first and not the fifth. There were no revelers out in the streets to contend with. There were no plastic masks or black capes to rub his nose in his boss' obsession and father's disappointment. If Finch was obsessed, than Dominic was not far behind and wanted his son to find out V more than almost anything. Finch had told his partner the story of his exchange with Evey Hammond after the fifth almost thirty years ago. Now the younger man was eaten alive by curiosity. That night, Finch had watched as Hammond pulled the lever that sent of Codename V's body to the ill-fated Parliament. Several months later, V was back and in the thirty years since, there had been almost no sign of Evey Hammond. Dominic had more than once wondered if the girl was V, but Finch squashed that idea. If that were so, than this V would be shorter and in possession of breasts was his reasoning. And besides, Evey Hammond was a slight woman. She could hardly be expected to keep up with the strain of being a hero, particularly since she was almost fifty now.

Varten disagreed. For one thing, no one but his victims had seen in V up close and personal since the same night Finch saw his body. Therefore, no one could possibly tell what his exact height was. Secondly, Finch had also told about the absolute fearlessness and strength in Hammond's eyes that night. Whether or not she was small, Varten believed that she could handle the job if she were determined enough.

Dominic Stone sat on the couch in the apartment he shared with his oldest son. A year ago, Dominic's wife had died and he had moved in with Varten. He sometimes felt guilty about never revealing that Chelsea wasn't Varten's real mother and that Hazelle and Berke were only his half-brother and sister. However, he couldn't quite figure out how to tell him that Dominic had slept with Evey Hammond eight years after V's death, only to have a small boy appear on his stepa little over nine months later with a note begging him not to tell anyone who his real mother was, not even Finch or Varten, and to take good care of him. His birth certificate had been in the same envelope as the note and a small rosebud had been fastened to the carrier's handle. His oldest son was the product of seeing a beautiful old query in a bar one night after work and the night that had followed that meeting.

The latch on the door clicked and Dominic looked up to see one half of the object of his thoughts walk in, soaking wet and looking like he would like to wrap his hands around the neck of the first person who looked at him oddly.

"I'm going to kill Finch one of these days," he grumbled, teeth chattering, "but first, I'm going to take a shower and make myself a cup of tea." Dominic grinned.

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It was a little longer than last time. Thank you for your patience and here's the answer to the question several of you asked.

Until next time, my friends.


	3. In Which Varten and V Finally Meet

Disclaimer: Forgot this last time. I would be so lucky to own V for Vendetta. Sadly, most of my original story ideas are icky and fall flat on their face.

Okay, I lied. I told you you'd probably have to wait to get another chapter out of me, but here it is! Chapter #3! And to think, I was going to delete this story...

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Evey watched Dominic Stone leave his son's home early the next morning. Of the three men who hadfathered her children, he was her favorite. Maybe it was because of his involvement in building the new England or perhaps she just felt guilty for macing him. It could even be that he was a link to the memories of the real V or the fact that he was her only lover besides Vwho ever knew who she really was. Varick's father, a bookstore owner called Robert Martin, had thought she was a distraught young lady in the park. She had slipped him something when he bought her a cup of coffee. Nine months later, she had left Varick on his doorstep. Same thing with Verena's father, the young lawyer that was now Senator Galen Ellwood. She sighed and watched Dominic past, never looking up to notice her perched on the ledge of the building next store. He was not her query today. In fact, she was a half-hour late in catching him. With that, she grabbed a branch and went to wait for the NFS (National Fascist Society) to start acting up.

Varten's face was grim as he climbed into his patrol car. More rioters were rasing a stench and he fully intended to be there before V was. Finch, of course, had wanted to come with, but Varten had refused, telling him that he was too old and that he'd tell him the complete story when he got back.

When Varten and hismen pulled up, three of the fanatics lay dead in the street and five more struggled from their bonds as they hung by their feet from nearby lamp-posts and buildings.

At first, the police just gawked at the sight before Varten ordered the men to be cut down and taken back to the station for questioning. He scanned the alley to the right of the scene. As he bent over what appeared to be an old baton like the ones carried by the fingermen, he heard a thump behind him. Whirling around, he came fast to face with a frightened young woman.

"May I help you, miss?" Varten asked, wondering where she had come from. At first she nodded mutely, but then seemed to find her voice.

"Yes, please. I w-was attacked...by those men...I-I'm okay, I think, but the p-person who saved me gave me this for you." She stammered, handing him a thick, folded piece of parchment. Turning it over, he eyed a red wax seal, emblazoned with a V in a circle.

"Your rescuer...he didn't happen to be V, did he?" The woman nodded and Varten sighed, "Alright then. Come with me and I'll send you with one of my officers. He'll take you to the station, ask you a few questions and then take you home." The woman looked relieved. Varten wished he could say the same for himself. After ordering a junior officer to care for the victim and then sending the last of his boys home, he settled into his car and opened the letter.

_My Sincerest Greetings, Mr. Stone._

_I assume that you received my gift, did you not? The leaders of the NFS, all wrapped and tied with a bow. I'm sure you're also very grateful for the girl. She was lucky. Had I not been watching, she might not have lived through the experience. Enough of the small talk, Mr. Stone. You must by dying of curiosity to know why I've not only left you these gifts but have also given you a letter. You see, Mr. Stone, I have quite a few secrets and I find myself wishing to share a few. And I know more than a few would interest your boss and father, as well as yourself. If you have any desire to know the answers to your questions, be so kind as to be of attendance at The Friar's Inn this evening after you have left work._

_Your Dear Friend, _

V

That night, when Varten clocked out, he barely spared Brita a look. He grabbed a taxi and set off for the Friar's Inn, all the while rubbing the broken wax seal with his thumb. He arrived at his destination and payed the cabby before walking in. He scanned the pub before taking a place at the bar. He hadn't known what to expect and felt foolish at looking for the grinning white face of a Guy Fawkes mask. When the bartender gave him his scotch, he took a swig before scanning the area again. Still nothing that might tip him off. An older woman settled herself next him. In her youth, she had been beautiful and age had added a wisdom and experience to her face that make-up couldn't duplicate. Looking closer while trying to be unobtrusive, Varten noticed that she wore no beauty products and all-black clothing covered her surprising lithe figure. Her blonde hair showed little graying andshe looked to be in her late forties early fifties.

The woman chuckled. "Mr. Stone, I'm old enough to be your mother. And besides, we are here for far different reasons than for you to be examining an old woman's figure." Varten jumped. The woman chuckled again."Surprised, Mr. Stone?" She looked at him directly and her doe-brown eyes held a hard, fearless glint behind the mirth that danced in them. "Never thought I'd be a woman, did you, Mr. Stone." She sobered and turned back to the bar. "Do you know who I am, my boy?"

Varten took another swig of scotch, his mind racing. Who would have thought? "Yes, Miss Hammond, I know who you are."

Evey nodded. "Good. Then let's go. I have someplace to show you and this is no place to tell you what you need to know." With that she stood and pulled Varten from the bar, only pausing long enough to pay the tab.

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Well. There it is. Thank you for reading! I luff.


	4. In Which the Story Begins

Disclaimer: I do not own V for Vendetta. I will never own V for Vendetta and while I have come to terms with that fact, I still find it deeply depressing.

Shma. Chapter four. All of a sudden I'm absolutely addicted to this story again. I wasn't even this into it when I originally started writing it. I blame it on you all. Thanks. I luff.

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Evey pulled Varten through the streets until they came to an entrance from the old Underground. Here she stopped so suddenly that Varten almost ran into her and ended up tripping and falling trying to avoid it. Her shoulder's were slightly slumped and her head bent. She stood that way for a few moments before turning to face him. The glint in her eyes was still there, but a shine of unshed tears rested there also.

'Listen to me, boy," her voice was gruff, "I'm about to take you somewhere the likes of which you have never seen. This place is important to me and it is important to him. If things do not go as I have planned tonight, you must never reveal these whereabouts. Neither must you show any inch of disrespect while you are here. This place is sacred and I will die to maintain it just as he left it." Without another word, she pulled him into complete darkness.

What seemed like an eternity later, Varten heard metal on metal as a key was slid into a lock and the falling of tumblers. The door swung open and a soft glow semi-penetrated the darkness. Evey grabbed his hand again and dragged him through the door into a softly lit hall. After the door was locked and closed she led him into a glorious room. Old artwork hung from the walls and artifacts and books were spread on shelves throughout the room. Through one door he could see a grand piano, through another a sofa and television and through another a kitchen. This was the door she went through.

"There was more, once. Many, many years ago. These are only his favorites. When I die, the museums will get them, I'm sure. But for now," a sad sigh, "I can't bear to part with them." Varten followed her into the kitchen as she put tea on. He eyed the aprons hanging from the hook in the corner. She looked up at him and her eyes were sad. "He wears them every time he cooks. He loves to cook. Please, go into the other room and make yourself comfortable. I'm afraid you have a bit of a night ahead of you."

Varten nodded and followed her suggestion. He eyed the books all around him. Fairytales, poetry, plays, novels, biographies and he even thought he saw some religious texts. As he looked at them all, Evey returned with tea and scotch.

"He loves to read, too. He always quotes from books. Sometimes I wonder if it isn't his second mask. He plays piano, when he's home, or listens to the jukebox. His favorite movie is The Count of Monte Cristo and he fences during the fighting scenes. He's always Edmond Dantes. He knows every line by heart." Varten cocked his head at her.

"You speak of him as if he's alive, but he's not." Evey smiled sadly.

"That, Varten, is where you're wrong. He's very much alive. He's alive in England's heart and history, he's alive in these paintings and sculptures, these walls, the piano and the suit of armor. He's alive in me and that mask," she waves vaguely toward a dented and scarred Guy Fawkes mask in a shadow box by the wall, "And, my son, he's alive in you." Varten's eyes widened and she smiled. "That, my dear, is where we will begin."

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Sorry. It's short again. It'll be longer next time, I swear.


	5. In Which V Goes On

Disclaimer: I don't own V for Vendetta.

I'm sorry it took so long to get up. Had a speck of trouble when I tried to update it. Sorry it's short, the next one will be longer. thank you for your patience.

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"Don't look at me like that, boy. I'm not any crazier than I was earlier. Now, I have a story to tell and yours are to be the first ears to have heard the entire thing, so stay silent until I'm finished." Without further ado, she dove into her story.

"You see, love. The real V died thirty years ago. Or soit will be in two days. He lived through bullet wounds long enough to kill both Sutler and Creedybefore coming back here. I'm sure you know the story of his Viking Funeral from Finch. If not then I'll tell you another night. After he died, though, there was no one to carry on V for him. At first, I thought to let him fade into history and become a part of the books he loved so much. It wasn't until months later, as I began to unfurl from my mourning, that I realizedEngland still needed V. So, I did the only thing I could think of and became him. He was prepared for me to take this role. The keys were by his bed and there were instructions on how to do everything. I learned fighting from books and movies and simply remembering what he did. He had made some costumes in my size and left the materials and instructions on how to make more. Another note led me to a weapons maker and another told me how to care for them."

Basically, in the end, he had made it as easy as possible for me to become V and at first, I thought of nothing past hunting, waking up and taking care of myself and this place. It wasn't until the first time I took a bad blow that I began to think. An old Fingerman leading a bunch of hot-blooded lads, looking for a fight. Of course, I was cocky. Most of my prey before now had been drunk or inexperienced. He was prepared and he got me in the side worse than I am willing to admit and I began to realize that I was not immortal. I was the sole keeper of this place and the next V. I had to do what he had done. I had to prepare for when I was gone. I began looking for nice, strong men. Men who would make good fathers. I found two and with them I had two children. Neither of those families know me. Both were one night stands and of them came two children. Varick Martin, a twenty-eight year old journalist who has a lovely wife, one daughter and another on the way. You know him as the assistant editor of the London Times. The other is a lovely young actress named Verena Ellwood." Here, Evey grinned. "Yes, she is the same Verena who dated your best friend in high school and who you count as one of your closest confidants. Interesting how small this world is. But on with the story; about a year after giving birth to Verena, I met up with an old acquaintance, a Chief inspector Dominic Stone, or so he was at the time. He recognized me and we spent the night together. I must admit, you were always my favorite out of the three. Your brother and sister are darling and I do love them, but you have always been something special."

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Short again, I'm sorry. I was ried from exams when I wrote it. I felt obligated at the time,even though I was cross-eyed and tired from a math exam and a dance demonstration, so you aren't allowed a negative thought against me for length,you hear? I could've written more afterwords, but this seemed like the perfect place to stop.I did edit it though...some. 


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